This is sort of a preview, something that's been in the idea stage for a while. Might get finished someday (heh)
Inspiration: Harry Potter
Title of the fanfic: Untitled as yet
Name of the Author: Amy Entwistle (caffeine_lights)
A short summary: A short scene involving Fred, and Mandy, George's wife, who is pregnant.
An age rating: 15, for language.
The main genre: Drama
Original characters only? Mandy I guess is my own character, although I stole her name from a Harry Potter Book. (Ravenclaw in HP's year)
"Mandy. Mandy!" I can't believe she thinks the conversation is over. "Fuckin' hell," I mutter to myself angrily.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"Do about it?! You could be having my fucking kid."
"So?! Mandy, I'm not a bad guy. If I'm a father, I wanna be there for my kid. I'm not having it grow up fatherless!"
"Not a bad guy? You slept," she had a surprisingly accusatory tone considering who she was, "With your twin brother's wife!"
"Hey, it takes two to tango."
"Look, as far as you or anyone else is concerned, George is the father."
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is."
"Can't you get a paternity test or something?"
"You and George have the same DNA!"
"But the magic-"
"-doesn't solve everything. How about we wait till it grows up and see who it looks like, hm?" She stands mocking me, one hand on her hip, looking decidedly, inappropriately sexy.
"This isn't getting us anywhere." I voice the most obvious thought.
"There's nowhere for us to go. I don't even know why I came to see you today. We're over. Can't you just believe the baby's George's and forget about us?"
"It's not that simple." I repeat. I can't explain it, but the feeling is there. I couldn't just stand by and watch this kid growing up, calling George Daddy when it could be my kid. But if my brother found out it would break his heart, and I couldn't do that either. I lied. I am a bad guy.
"Fred, it most probably isn't yours," she's getting desperate, I can tell. What I don't know is if she's desperate for my sake, George's or her own. "We were careful, weren't we?" Weren't we just.
"More careful than you were with your husband?" My tone is acid. I want to hurt her now, I feel as though she had done this on purpose. She shakes her head, something she always does when people fire too many stressful questions at her.
"I don't know, Fred, can you honestly say you remember us using something every single time? What about the drunken nights? The parties, the completely stupid times." She's right. I can't fucking remember the details of every shag, especially if I was drunk. I look sideways at her stomach, as if expecting a label to pop out. Nothing. You can't even tell she's pregnant yet.
"Can I... touch it?"
"I don't think that would be a good idea," she turns to leave. I grab at her wrist.
"I can't wait around, Fred. I told George I was going for a walk. I've been half an hour already."
"Just ten more minutes," I plead. "We can talk this through. I'm not leaving it like it is."
"We've talked and talked, Fred, and already said it's not going anywhere. Let go of me." I have hold of her other hand now and we stand staring at each other, her face a picture of determination, mine probably a mixture of fear, worry and anger. We haven't stood this close since the affair, and it's unnerving. I want to kiss her so badly right now. "Let me go," she repeats slowly. My fingers don't release their grip.
"Mango, I want to kiss you so badly right now." Her eyes flash with temptation.
"Don't call me that," she almost whispers, averting her eyes. "I have to go. Let go of my hands."